


Treasure

by Fire_Bear



Series: FrUK Week 2016 [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Body Swap, Clothes Shopping, Comedy, Curses, Day 3, Fluff, FrUK Week 2016, Love Realisation, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After remembering the cursed treasure he had picked up but never examined, England takes it out of storage. But when France interrupts him, one of the many curses is quickly revealed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> I write so many human AUs that using the actual nation names is bloody difficult.

It had been after watching Pirates of the Caribbean on TV again that England remembered the chest he had in one of his spare rooms. He had locked it inside a wardrobe for added security and he was sure no-one had found it yet, seeing as no-one used the room. The reason for that was the supposed curse on the jewels within. Had he ever gotten around to finding out what the curse was? He had been pretty busy during that period of his life and then a _certain event_ occurred so he may have put it off. Perhaps he could have a look now.

So England hoisted himself off the couch and made his way upstairs to the room in question. When he opened the door he coughed as he breathed in dust from the musty room. The furniture had been covered with sheets: it looked ghostly and a little eerie. Maybe he should work out a function for the room which would give it some good use.

Moving over to the covered dresser, he pulled up the sheet and opened one of the drawers. Within it was a large, old-fashioned key which he took with him to the wardrobe. Grabbing the sheet covering that, he dragged it off in one move, letting the sheet fall to the floor as he sneezed on the dust. Once he could breathe again and his eyes were no longer watering, England put the key into the lock and twisted it, relieved that it unlocked with a hushed click.

Inside was the small, decorative chest, small shells embedded in it to make a swirling pattern over the lid. A key stuck out of it, calling to those around it to come hither. Thankfully, England knew full well that opening it didn't cause any harm for he had done that when they found it. However, the jewels inside were difficult to keep from his men and it was only their immense trust in their _privateer_ captain that England had managed to keep them from harm. So England picked up the chest and turned the key, testing the lock to make sure it didn't need to be oiled. Thankfully, like the wardrobe, it opened with a small click and England swung the lid open. Staring at him were the beautiful and perfect jewels, each one glinting in the light as if they had just been polished. England closed and locked it again, carrying it from the room. He would take them to his basement, he decided, and work on them there.

Just as he reached the door to his basement, the doorbell rang. Startled, England looked along the length of his hallway to see a blurry shadow through the windows in the front door. “Who could that be?” he muttered to himself, striding towards it. At the last moment, he remembered the chest in his hands and, after shifting his telephone a little, he set it down on one of the tables in the hall, hoping whoever it was wouldn't want to enter. Then he opened the door and looked out to find none other than France. Sighing, he said, “What do you want now?”

“How rude!” exclaimed France, putting a hand to his heart. “I came for a visit.”

“I'm busy. Go away.” England tried to close the door but France thrust an arm out and stopped it.

“S'il vous plait, Angleterre. I am bored.”

“I don't care. Piss off.”

“Am I not a guest?”

“No. I haven't invited you in,” England pointed out.

“What harm is there in me coming inside? America comes in and out all the time.”

“I don't invite him in either – he practically breaks in and is lucky I don't call the police.”

France pouted. “ _Please_ , England. I need a well-earned break.”

Narrowing his eyes at France, England wondered if there was some ill intent behind the sudden visit. France merely blinked innocently at him. Finally, England sighed and stepped aside to let him in. With a cry of delight, France stepped inside. “Do you want anything to drink?” England asked as he closed and locked the door behind them.

“Oui! Wine, if there is any.”

“There might be. But if there isn't, all I have is tea, orange juice, rum, scotch and some Coca Cola America left behind after one of his 'visits'.”

Taking off his coat, France grinned at England. “Ah, non – you mean Coca Cola you bought for him.” With a cheeky wink, the French nation turned to hang his coat on one of the hooks by the door.

“Shut it,” England said, without any sort of venom. He made his way into the kitchen, waving a hand in the direction of the living room door. “Make yourself at home.”

“Merci beaucoup!” Francis called back.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur searched in the pantry for any bottles of wine and managed to find a dusty bottle from a few years before. Shrugging, he made his way to the glass cupboard and found one for France to use. Then he turned to his kettle, hoping that a cup of tea would relax him enough to deal with France without attempting to strangle the nation.

“What is this?” France asked from somewhere in the hall as England filled up the appliance.

“What is what?”

“This chest- Oh! It unlocked...”

England froze, staring at the filling kettle. Had he just heard what he thought he had just heard? “Don't-!” he began, turning to look over his shoulder.

He was interrupted, however, by France saying. “Ah! This sapphire would match my eyes perfectly.”

“No!” England yelled, dropping the kettle into the sink and rushing to the hall. Just as he exited the kitchen, there was a flash of blue light: he had to screw his eyes shut in order to stop himself from being blinded. When he felt the light had dropped to a more acceptable level, he opened his eyes and blinked until he could see again. What he saw confused him: he was facing the wall against which stood the table he had left the chest on. In his hand was a large sapphire, held between long finger and thumb as if he had plucked it free from the others. For a moment, he merely stared at the scene. Then, with a distinct sinking feeling, he turned to his left and saw... Well, himself.

There he stood, his hair as messy as ever and... was that dust on his head? Damn, he'd answered the door like that. Obviously, the kettle had splashed him when he dropped it in the sink for there was a wet patch on his shirt now which... he... was staring at. Then... he... looked up and stared at England. “What...?” said himself.

“France,” said England with a mildly placating gesture.

“What did you do?!” France (in England's body) cried, looking quite distraught. England winced, realising he looked quite ugly when he was truly upset.

“I didn't do anything!” England snapped, annoyed at both the other nation and himself for having thoughts on his appearance when he should be working out a way to fix their predicament. “You're the one that touched this!” he added, lifting the sapphire aloft. The other nation pouted at him. “Stop that.”

“I was not the one to leave something like that lying around in the open,” France said, haughtily. Then he paused before deflating and giving England a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It's cursed treasure,” England said with a hefty sigh. “Look, you go into the living room, sit down and _don't touch anything_ and I'll consult my magic books. I know there's a spell for switching bodies-”

“Then you can fix this right away! I don't want to be stuck in this ugly body for much longer.”

“-but I'm not sure whether the curses attached to objects are easily reversed,” England continued through gritted teeth.

For a few seconds, France stared at him, the blank look rather odd on that face. Then he said, “Don't make that face – you'll make me wrinkle.”

“If you don't shut up, I'll make sure your body shows your age,” growled England, striding towards him. “Get in there.” Grabbing... his own... arm, England shoved France into the living room. To the cry of “How rude!”, England stomped down the stairs to his magical centre.

* * *

When England re-emerged, it was with a sour expression.

“Well?” asked France as soon as he entered the living room. “Did you find a way to...?” He trailed off when he saw the expression on his own face and grimaced. “Stop that. You make me look so ugly.”

“You _are_ ugly,” Arthur snapped as he headed to his armchair and collapsed into it. He set the sapphire on the coffee table and turned to France. “As it turns out, certain curses which are attached to objects are unable to be reversed. This, of course, happens to be one of them. I'm willing to bet those jewels that they all have similar curses with varying half-lives, as it were.”

“So...?”

“In other words, we're stuck like this for the foreseeable future. How long can you stay here before you'll be needed at your place?”

“A-A couple of days...” said France slowly, catching up with the implications of England's statement. “Wait! Are you telling me I'm stuck like this? Wearing these horrible clothes?!”

“This is all your fault,” England growled, glaring at him. “I've told you numerous times not to touch things in my house if you've not seen it before. You could have killed yourself, you know.”

France snorted and waved a hand dismissively: England winced at how smug and posh he looked with that simple gesture. “Never mind that. I need to get some decent clothes.”

“What?! No! You can't go out like that! Besides, it's not as if any of those Parisian shops are nearby.”

“I'll make do with something here. I'm sure you have _something_ worthwhile.”

“Look, we're not going shopping,” England told him, folding his arms and catching the sleeves of the sweater France had tied around his neck. Irritated, he batted at them to get them out of his way. “We're going to sit here and wait for this to wear off.”

* * *

“I can't believe we actually came here,” England grumbled, laying down the clothes he had picked out.

“We can at least be comfortable in our own- In each other's skins...?” France said, trailing off as he tried to figure out the correct terminology.

“I don't think becoming comfortable with this situation is a good idea,” England pointed out as he began to strip down to- Oh, thank God. France was actually wearing boxers. Though they were awfully tight – no wonder he had been feeling rather uncomfortable the longer he'd been in this body. But there was also no way in any Hell that he was going to take them off either. So he pulled on the clothes and, as agreed beforehand, he stepped out of the cubicle to face whatever France had picked.

They both happened to step out simultaneously and they stared at each other in shock. On his part, England was staring at the horrible khaki trousers and the similar colour of shirt. France had even taken a dark green jacket which was a little longer than normal but not quite a coat. And, somehow, he had found a scarf and wrapped it around his neck. England couldn't understand his obsession with things hanging around his neck. But the worst thing was that his usual messy mop almost blended into all the clothing and made his body look... hideous was the only word for it.

Meanwhile, France was probably staring at the _sensible_ clothes England had chosen. A long-sleeved, dark green top with a pair of normal, black trousers. Perhaps the fact that he had tugged a few strands of hair from France's ponytail when he had pulled the top on was irking the French nation. Or maybe he looked just as bad as his own body did.

“Non,” said France, firmly. “You are not wearing that. Think of my reputation!”

“This would probably raise it to new heights,” England retorted, placing a hand on his hip. “And you... Why on Earth are you wearing that? At least pick a different colour.”

Sighing, France ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe picking our own styles isn't an option.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously, our own styles on... our... other... What I want to wear on my own body does not suit yours and _should not_ be attempted.”

“See? This is why we should have stayed at my house,” England told him.

“I refuse to wear your horrible clothes.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

France tapped a finger on his chin: it was such a strange gesture that England pulled a face and wasn't entirely sure what his expression was. Then France smiled – such a pretty smile on England's face and England wasn't sure how to feel about _that_ – and said, “Why don't we get what we like to see on each other?”

“What?”

“For example, say I like that awful red coat you used to wear – I would go find something similar and try it on to see how it looked.”

“Hm.” England looked down at the top and trousers he had on, trying to imagine what he would put on France's body. When he realised what he would grab from the shop, he nodded. “Let's do that.” With that, he turned and went back into the cubicle to get changed. He made sure everything was back on its hanger and awkwardly handed it to the woman in charge of the fitting rooms. She smiled almost flirtatiously back at him and he was so taken aback that he stuttered and hurried away, feeling his cheeks heat.

He didn't see France between when he left and when he returned so he quickly changed into the new clothes. Once he had finished, he stared at himself in the mirror. After a moment, he frowned, wondering what he found so odd about it. Not that he looked bad, in his opinion. He was sure France would approve of it and they could both leave and hide from the world till their dilemma was resolved. But something about it was niggling at him, as though he shouldn't show France.

Shaking his head, England emerged from the cubicle – only to find France emerging from the cubicle across from him. They paused and stared at each other, taking in the clothes. For some reason, France had chosen a one-size-too-big, pale pink sweater with a pair of navy, skinny jeans. The sweater was falling off one shoulder and both of the sleeves flopped as he moved, the ends of them completely covering his hands. Weirdly, England didn't mind it too much, though why he had gone through the trouble to find something to big was beyond the island nation.

The clothes England had chosen for France's body, meanwhile, were comfortable and simple but tight. Black, skinny jeans and a white shirt, though he had left it unbuttoned at the neck to show some of France's chest. He had even captured France's stray hair and tied it back again. All in all, he thought he – well, France's body – looked good. Sexy, even.

As that thought hit him, he also realised that France had dressed England's body in rather a 'cute' way.

Neither of them moved, England still clutching the curtain of his cubicle. Then he cleared his throat and ducked his head, hoping his cheeks weren't too red. “Should... Should we...?”

“So as... not to argue any more,” France said, sounding cautious. “Maybe we should... buy these?”

“Right. But it doesn't mean anything,” England was quick to add, glancing up at a red-faced France. Well, his red-faced body. “Except that you go over the top with your clothes!”

“And, clearly...” France trailed off. Then he turned to go back into his cubicle. “We will buy the clothes!” he exclaimed and closed the curtains with such force England was surprised he didn't pull the rings off the rail.

* * *

That evening, they mostly ignored each other. France cooked dinner as he usually did when he turned up at England's place. England provided him with a newspaper while he continued with the book he had been reading. Neither of them touched the chest, the jewels or brought up what they had both likely realised in the shop. Which was for the best, England was sure, since France would probably try to kiss him. Kiss himself. Rather, England would be kissing himself and-

England tried not to think about it too much.

Once he had shown France to the guest room later that night, England retreated to his bedroom and sighed in relief – only to remember that he was in France's body and couldn't change into his pyjamas due to two reasons. For one, his pyjamas would be slightly too small for France. For another, he would have to remove those tight boxers and he still didn't want to do that. Especially after the realisation that he found France _handsome_. He could only imagine what would happen when he removed his clothes. Well, France's clothes. Which he had bought.

Had he just gone shopping and bought France clothes like some sort of lover?

With his head spinning, he decided to push aside all his thoughts and just put on the pyjamas – over the boxers, of course. It wasn't as if France would find out or object to it. Or maybe he would. Ah, England's head ached. With a groan, he collapsed onto his bed and was out like a light.

A light which was switched on again in the morning, this time in the guest bedroom. He almost cried with happiness when he realised the curse had worn off after they'd slept (maybe they could have saved themselves the embarrassment of going shopping). Then he threw back the bed covers and almost yelled in shock. He was completely naked. Had France gone to sleep in the nude? Did he do that normally?

His cheeks a bright red, England hurried from the room and burst into his own, rushing for his wardrobe and some decent clothes. His movements roused France who groaned and thrashed on the bed as if he was trying to escape the morning. England deliberately made more noise, pulling on his trousers just as France opened his eyes and peered at his fellow nation.

“Get up,” England ordered. “Get out of my pyjamas. Get out of my house.”

“My, we _are_ bossy this morning,” France murmured. “And fully dressed-” With a gasp, France sat upright and stared at both England and his own body. “I'm back! And you dressed me in these horrid things? How could y-? Am I wearing my underwear?”

“I was h-hardly going to take them off, was I?” said England, turning his back on France so he couldn't see his blush. “If you're lucky, I _might_ make you some breakfast-”

“Euh! Non!”

“-or I was _going_ to suggest making some coffee for you but, seeing as you're going to take that attitude, you can just get out.”

England strode from the room, feeling the dire need to have several cups of tea to calm his nerves. And, of course, a hearty full English breakfast would perk him up. Then he could forget this ever happened and lie to himself about what he thought of France-

The jewels were glaring at him as he walked down the stairs.

“Ah,” he said to himself. “Did we put the sapphire back?” He nipped into the living room to have a look and, sure enough, it was still sitting innocently on the coffee table. Sighing, he went into the kitchen to get the tongs and returned to the jewel, using them to carefully pick it up. He would have to hide the jewels until he could find a way to remove every single curse. Which would be difficult if they were all different curses-

He almost walked right into France, only just moving the sapphire out of the way in time, shifting the tongs until the jewel was facing away from them. Then he looked France over and froze. The French nation was wearing what England had bought the previous day. England swallowed, a tingling sensation shooting across his body.

“You,” he said, shortly, thrusting the tongs out to France. “Put it back on the way out.”

“But the coffee?” France said, tilting his head with a bemused smile.

“Out.”

Rolling his eyes, France took the tongs and they went their separate ways. Once he was out of sight of France, England sighed in relief. He couldn't deal with France or _that_ , not at the moment. What he needed was tea and then he could face the world. France would have to wait a few weeks more while he sorted out what was going on with his... feelings. England scrunched his nose up in disgust.

Moving over to the kettle, England paused when he heard France speak from the hall. “I have put it back. And so... Ah! This is a pretty emerald. It is rather like-”

The force of some sort of magic ruffled England's hair where he'd frozen, eyes wide. Then he turned and rushed from the room, heart in his throat. France was nowhere to be seen so he called out to him. And that was when he heard a meow and looked down to see the offending jewel and an idiot cat...

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you’re confused! = France chose what he thought England would look cute in. England chose what France would look most handsome to him. So, basically, they’re just telling the world that they like each other more than they let on. ;)
> 
> Or something. That was the intent.
> 
> Oh. And, because they just realised it, France doesn’t want to leave England yet. So he might have maybe touched the emerald deliberately. We shall never know. (Because England was in another room this time, it didn’t work on him.)


End file.
